


Trust Me

by Lexadant



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Canon, Recovery, Romance, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-16 10:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10569192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexadant/pseuds/Lexadant
Summary: Three weeks ago, Flynn Scifo departed to Heliord on business. Three weeks ago, Flynn Scifo disappeared. Now, he's found, but brutally injured and near death. He's alive, but it'll be a long road to recovery. Post-Canon.





	1. Just a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoy torture/recovery fics and I've never gotten to write one before, so (with a bit too much encouragement from some friends) here we go! Warnings for torture (mostly only physical), but this is a recovery fic so *most* of it isn't too explicit.
> 
> Also, a special thanks to Nightfoot for betaing this! Her help was really appreciated.

****It hurt. Damn, it hurt. As he stirred, his whole body _hurt_ and suffering filled him until it overflowed and escaped through his lips as a soft whimper.  It hurt, no matter how much he was used to the pain. He didn’t care about silencing himself, so a low, dry moan followed the whimper. He couldn’t focus on anything else for a few moments, only the blood rushing through his ears and the pain that had taken root throughout his body.

The majority of his pain centered around his right side; his arm and leg, specifically. They both throbbed and when he tried to move (dimly he heard something as he attempted, but it was overwhelmed), the pain became even worse. There were also some assorted pains, here and there, but they didn’t hurt as much as they usually did, oddly enough. The absolute worst of the pain, though, was on his face. In his eyes. Focusing on it made it intensify; the terrible throbbing turned into thousands of sharp needles piercing  his eyes, and it made him want to scream. The gears of his mind turned and he remembered the last time he was conscious. Through the haze of diluted memories, he recalled  a person raising something—what had that been?—and then a gap in his memories, followed by agony, horrible and raw. He had screamed until his throat ached, because it had hurt so _fucking much_ , and then…  nothing.

Flynn  heard something, again. A voice. Something, someone, crying out. It wasn’t him screaming and shouting for once this confused him. It was probably just a dream, his mind reasoned. His dreams usually didn’t hurt this bad, but reality had always hurt worse than this, and he had no explanation to what he was feeling, nor what he was hearing. He was too busy thinking about whether or not he was dreaming to hear even more voices around him.Then, something touched his right arm.

Flynn’s left hand wasn’t restrained. Clearly, a mistake on his captors’ part. He jerked his fist in their direction, and a burst of adrenaline hid the pain that shot up his right arm when he put weight on it. Something caught his left wrist with ease. Flynn pulled, struggling against whoever had grabbed him. They had a hand on his chest, now, and were pushing him slowly back down.

“No! No, not again, don’t—don’t fucking _touch me_!” Flynn shouted at the top of his lungs.

A soft voice replied, but he wasn’t listening.

Something pricked his arm while it was held exposed, and terror rose, constricting his chest like a serpent. He breathed shallowly, quickly, as he was held in place. He could still hear the voices—how many were there?—but he didn’t really register what they were saying. Actually, now that he tried to focus, it was getting harder every second. It was like he was trying to listen to them from underwater, and it was only getting worse.

“What... what did...?” he mumbled, but he couldn’t get an answer. His arm had been released, he numbly noticed, but it now felt like it weighed fifty pounds and he could barely move it at all. His breathing had relaxed, too, and it was getting hard to think about how terrified he was. Well, it was getting hard to think at all. Everything slowly dissolved, slipping away from his mind’s fingertips into the void of unconsciousness.

* * *

 When he slowly fluttered back to the waking world, he didn’t hurt. Not as bad, at least. He knew the pain was there, but it was distant, and the only source of it that was strong enough to make him hiss in pain was in his eyes. It still felt like someone had driven a white-hot knife right into his eyeballs, but it wasn’t _as_ intense and horrible as before. In fact, it was enough that he could think, or more accurately, wonder.

He was blindfolded. He knew this because he could feel something around his eyes, but he wondered why he was, because even when he opened his eyes (which caused a spike in the pain that nearly caused him to cry out again) he couldn’t see any red light filtering through the fabric, which must mean he was in a dim or dark room. He was laying on a bed or a mattress of some sort, and it was _soft_ , more soft than anything he’d slept on in the past... however long it had been.

He found it was very difficult to focus on what he was trying to think about. Every now and again, his mind would slip and either wonder about something entirely different, or he wouldn’t think at all before remembering he was supposed to be doing something. It was like his thoughts were swimming through syrup. Syrup. He was hungry. He could really go for something to _eat_....

“Flynn!”

The call of his name snapped him out of his thoughts and he jolted. His response to _that_ was to whine softly. Though his pain was limited, his brain was fuzzy and he didn’t see a reason to muffle his whines about the brief, deep twinge of pain.

“I’m sorry, Flynn. I didn’t mean to scare you. Can you hear me?”

That voice. _That voice_. He _knew that voice_! It was Estellise. Lady Estellise, the princess, it was _her_ lovely, lilting voice. He couldn’t mistake that voice for anyone else’s. But... why was she here? Why could she talk to him? Had his tormentors captured her, as well?

 _You’re dreaming_ , his mind lazily supplied. _Obviously_.

“Es...tell...ise?”

“Flynn!” Lady Estellise’s voice was something between happy and excited, an emotion Flynn’s mind couldn’t currently comprehend with any degree of success. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re awake.... I’ve been so worried about you.”

“Nnh,” he moaned. “Where...?”

 _A dream_ , said his mind again.

“The Zaphias Royal Hospital,” she said. “You were brought here a few days ago, and gosh, you were in such bad condition. We didn’t know if you were going to make it... but you’re gonna be ok. I know it."

Flynn was silent for a few moments. He tried to gather his thoughts. The royal hospital... he’d heard of it, maybe, but it was a distant memory. If he was in a hospital, though, he was certain Estellise couldn’t see. What with how uniform the darkness was in his eyes, he doubted there was any light in the room at all. Why wouldn’t there be light in the room? He was a hospital. _(See? It doesn’t make sense. You’re dreaming.)_ Yes, that must be it. He was dreaming. Perhaps, though, Estellise had a logical explanation for why all the lights were off.

Maybe she also had answers for the attack the last time he’d been awake. He couldn’t quite remember it, though. Trying to focus on that particular set of events gave him nothing but a head full of white noise and more questions.

“Flynn?”

Oh, right, he’d been talking to Estellise. _Dream-_ Estellise, he was sure. He’d been trying to ask her something, because she probably knew a lot more than he did. He spoke up. “Why... am I wearing a blindfold?” His voice was soft and there was an edge of muted concern to it.

Estellise was quiet for a moment, but Flynn barely noticed her silence. “Oh, that.”

Why did she sound so disheartened? Had he done something wrong? Was that not the right question? His heart skipped a beat in fear.

“It’s not a blindfold. They’re... bandages. Over your eyes.”

Bandages. That did make sense. He was in a hospital, after all. He forgot his earlier question about why the room was so dark; his fuzzy mind accepted ‘bandages over your eyes’ as a good answer and moved on. There was also the question of why he was here, and what had happened the previous... well, whenever he’d been awake before.

“What happened...?”

Estellise was silent again.

“Lady... Estell...Estell-i..." That name was simply too hard for his cotton-headed brain to manage to say at the moment. “Lady... Estelle? What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, I just... do you want me to explain it all?”

It was a yes or no question, but Flynn said, “Ok.” Estelle apparently took this for confirmation, and began.

“Ok, well... you had to go to Heliord for some... knight business. I think you were going there to oversee some peace contracts with the Union and also to inspect the knights posted in the city. You were supposed to only be there for a week, and then you’d come back to Zaphias. But... on your third day there, you were kidnapped.”

Dimly, Flynn registered that he knew this information. He didn’t feel like gathering the energy to speak and say that he knew it, though, so he let Estelle tell the rest of the story.

“The Knights were... really panicked after you disappeared, ’cause no one saw where you went. You had just... disappeared. We were all really scared, and I sent a letter to Yuri. He and some of the knights in your brigade started looking for you. They looked all over, but they couldn’t find any leads or anything and... we were so _worried_ . We were sure you’d been killed. The search was getting kind of hopeless in the last week... it’d been three weeks since you had been kidnapped. And... and then we got a letter, an anonymous letter, and it said you were in Ghasfarost. It said it was signed by a traitor... and we knew it could be a trap or... or _something_ , but we were scared and desperate and thought you were dead.

“So Yuri and Brave Vesperia and some of your knights went. They arrived at Ghasfarost and... Yuri found you in the basement. There wasn’t anyone there—”

“There wasn’t?” Flynn didn’t mean to interrupt, but his mind had shouted at him. Why? What had that been about?

“...No,” Estelle quietly said. “Whoever had kidnapped you... they ran, I think. There wasn’t anyone there, and most of their stuff was gone, too. I’m sorry, Flynn.”

His head turned, ‘staring’ in her direction for a few vital seconds. Realization dawned on him at once, and he swallowed hard, so hard his throat ached, and a visceral kind of fear ran through his veins. “I remember.” His voice was dry, filled with a terrified sort of coldness. His fingers twitched and his left hand’s fingertips dug into the sheets. Pain shot up his hand as the skin where his nails used to be brushed the fabric, irritated by the texture. He felt, however, the need to ground himself before he lost his thoughts to the clouds in his brain.

“I remember them,” he choked. “The kidnappers. They were knights.” This seemed to awaken that animalistic terror even further. “They were _knights_. I can’t—E-Estelle, _they were knights_ , they were _damned knights_ —they worked right under me and I didn’t even know they planned to do—to do th- _this_!”

“Flynn, it’s ok, you’re safe—”

Flynn ignored her words. “They’re going to find me. Th-they’re going to be here, I know it. I-I know—I kn- _know_ it—” His hand suddenly left the mattress and raised to run through his hair. His fingers knotted into the blond locks and a desperate noise left him, and he continued to stammer on. “It’s going to be even _worse_! Estelle, you have to _go_!” He reached a new volume, a new pitch. “You need to get out of there. They’re going to—they’re going to catch you—”

“Flynn, please calm _down_ —” He could hear the distress in her voice.

“They’re going to catch you and—and they’re—they’re going to _kill_ you... please... please...."

He quieted into shallow, quick breaths and a noise like a sob left his mouth. His shoulders were shaking but he didn’t really feel much pain from it, numbed by another shot of adrenaline and the previous numbness of his body. He mumbled something under his breath before he fell completely silent other than his labored breaths. Estelle was waiting for him to calm, but she hadn’t touched him, hadn’t spoken again yet. He could barely think anymore, though. He felt dizzy and confused and a bit light-headed, and he shuddered with fear.

“Fl-Flynn, please. I’m ok. You’re safe,” she murmured finally.

“Mmm.” He didn’t believe it. “M-mhm. Safe.” It was a nice word. He wished it was true. “I’m... I-I’m safe.” Saying it aloud helped calm him down and reassure himself. His mind was half-gone, but he could say these words and they helped. “I’m safe.” His breathing slowly, slowly evened out, and he forced himself to breathe deeply. “G-go... go on.”

She was quiet and he was sure she was staring at him. With uncertainty, maybe, or... maybe she thought he was crazy. Messed up in the head. He kind of was, really. “Are you sure?”

“...Please.”

“Um... ok. There’s not a whole lot much to tell after that, though. They found you and you weren’t responding to anything, so they got you the best they could and you were in Heliord to get immediate aid... they took you here, afterwards, since this is the best place you could have gone. Plus, I helped heal you some. You woke up once yesterday, but... you were freaking out and you were trying to fight some of the nurses. They... had to sedate you.”

He was sedated. Oh. That meant... he’d been put to sleep after trying to fight off the nurses, who he hadn’t known were nurses. But _sedated_? Hell, it would be so, so easy for someone to make him helpless. Just a tiny pin prick and he would have no hope of fighting back against whoever wanted at him. He’d have no way of defending himself. It was truly terrifying, but he tried to even his breath before he panicked again.

“Then... that’s about it, until you woke up just now.”

Flynn nodded and tried his best to relax against the bed. His left hand lowered and pulled the thin hospital blankets a bit further over himself. He felt safer being covered, even if it was only marginally more than before, and inhaled deeply. “Ok. Yeah. I... sorry, I’m... I’m sorry.” He felt bad for freaking out on her over the escaped knights. The paranoid thoughts still plagued his mind, but he did his best to keep them at bay.

“It’s ok.”

“So... how bad is it?”

Estelle paused for another beat. She sure did do that a lot, Flynn noticed. “Your injuries?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“It’s..." She sighed. “It’s pretty bad. I healed what I could.”

“How... how bad?” He might as well learn the sources of his pain, even if it was numbed. Maybe that would help him cope with it better when he _could_ feel it. Hopefully it wouldn’t overwhelm him so much like it had the first time. He wasn’t eager to relive that.

He heard her draw in a long breath, and exhale it even slower as if she were preparing herself to tell him all that was wrong. Silence stretched between them. At length, she finally began to explain.

“You had a lot of cuts and scratches that I could heal up pretty well,” she began. “Those were the least serious, since I could heal those pretty well. You had some deeper lacerations, but... they’re gone now. Um... you had some burns, mostly on your neck and chest, and I healed them as much as I could, but there’s only so much I can do for those. A couple of them are pretty severe but they should heal up fine as long as they don’t get infected.”

Infected. Oh, lovely; another problem that may arise. Another pain.

“You’re missing fingernails, which... I can’t help. I’m sorry. They also said you had a mild concussion... again, they’re pretty sure you’re going to be fine about that, but nurses have to keep checking up on you to make sure you’re ok. You’re also... pretty sick. You had an infection in some of the cuts, but they should clear up pretty well with some medicine.”

It almost sounded like she were reciting it, like she were reading it off of a clipboard with a list of all his misfortunes. He briefly wondered why he’d asked Estelle to tell him all of this, anyway. It only made him feel more hopeless, more helpless.

“And you were dehydrated and malnourished. And... your right forearm was broken pretty badly. And right shin. It was in a similar condition.” She fell silent for another stretch, and this concerned him, because she hadn’t said anything about the most glaring issue right now for him: his eyes. She hadn’t said anything about them, like she’d forgotten that they were covered in tight bandages and caused him pain every time he tried to move them. Estelle didn’t say anything, so Flynn asked the question for her.

“What about... my eyes?”

She made a small, uncomfortable noise, and from the way it sounded, her head was turned away. She didn’t speak and anxiety gripped his chest.

“What’s wrong with them?” he repeated firmly, though worry fluttered in his stomach. How serious was it? She wouldn’t be this quiet for nothing.

“I...” she murmured softly, hesitating. “It’s... I-I’m sorry, Flynn. It’s... really bad. It’s really, really bad.”

The anxiety that squeezed his chest hurt even worse. “What’s wrong with them?” he repeated slowly, quietly, that low tone of terror in his voice never ceasing.

“You had... acid burns in your eyes. They damaged your eyes and skin around them... really, really bad. The doctors, they’re... they said it... probably won’t heal. That... they’ll never heal completely.”

Time stopped.

“What?” Flynn breathed.

He could hear the pain in Estelle’s voice as she gave him the final explanation. “Flynn... you’re blind.”

He knew the answer before she had said it, but it still took him like gale force wind to a shrub. Blind. _Blind_ . Completely, probably permanently, **_blind_**. Her words repeated in his head. _Probably won’t heal... will never heal completely._ He wasn’t going to be able to see? Even after he took off the bandages that pressed so tight against his temple they gave him a headache, he wouldn’t _be able to see_?

His breathing came quick again. Blind. It was such a stupid, small word, and it was a word that was going to _ruin his life_.

 _No,_ some resurfaced part of his brain decided, a part desperate to rationalize why this simply couldn’t be the case. He couldn’t be _blind_ . _It’s not. You’re not blind._

 _(I’m not?)_ He needed confirmation. This couldn’t be right. He couldn’t be _blind_. That was a silly thought.

_No. Remember? Remember? You’re dreaming. You’re just going to wake up back there. Back there; this isn’t over. It’s not over, you’re not safe._

Somehow, he didn’t care about waking up. All he cared about in the immediate time was that it was just a dream. His mind had caved under the last torture he’d had to endure, and he was dreaming, dreaming of being rescued and waking up in the hospital with one of his favorite people in the whole world. The blindness was just something weird about this dream. Dreams were always odd, after all. Anything could happen in a dream.

 _Nothing about this is real... you haven’t been rescued. This isn’t Estelle. This is just your mind. You’re sleeping_.

Some rational part of his head screamed that dreams didn’t hurt as much as this had, but he ignored it. A dream... Oh! Maybe, this could be explained by... the last time he was “conscious”, someone had pinned him down and injected him with some sort of... drug, or something, so he would have such interesting dreams. Or something like that. That’s why this dream didn’t hurt so badly!

He wasn’t sure. But one thing he was certainly sure of was that this was a dream.

There was no way this could happen.

He relaxed against the bed and took a deep breath, feeling a sudden calm. Estelle was quiet, and then he smiled.

“Flynn...?”

He wasn’t talking to her anymore, though. He didn’t need to humour a _dream_. A falsity, a lie, a hallucination his weary mind had come with to try to cope with his circumstances. He took a deep breath and kept smiling. “I wonder how long it will last,” he said softly.

“The blindness? It—"

“No,” he interrupted. “That’s not true. None of... this is. This is a dream. You’re a dream, Estelle.” His words were slurring slightly. Now why was that? Another odd side effect of this strange reality, perhaps. “I wonder how long it will last. This dream. Before I... have to go back there.”

“Flynn, what? No! You’re not in a dream, this is  _real_...”

Her words were taking on the same fuzzy effect that he remembered dimly from earlier, the voices as they held him pinned (he noticed vaguely that this softness to her voice had been present the whole time, but now it reached new levels). He felt so good, so relaxed, because he’d accepted his coming fate and was just waiting for all of this to end. Perhaps he would enjoy the rest of the dream, but enjoying it meant not letting this dream-Estelle convince him that he’d lost his vision, his arm, his leg... so much about himself.

“You can’t convince me that. You can’t..." Flynn yawned, “...prove that..."

She said something else, a sentence, but he could only make out a few words. He heard his name, and he mumbled something in return, something like a half-conscious protest of her trying to convince him so hard that this was _not_ a dream. It was getting harder and harder to focus on his thoughts, but he didn’t have that many more now. He just wondered what his tormentors were going to try on him next.

The slight smile on his lips, dark and humourless, didn’t leave until he had fallen completely into unconsciousness.


	2. An Uncertain Future

When Flynn opened his eyes again, he was back in that dreaded, terrible room. The room he’d spent nearly a month in, and the room he’d lost himself in. He still felt loopy and everything wasn’t quite in focus, but this didn’t surprise him. He was still in pain, though it was not as severe as it usually was, which did surprise him. He doubted the small comfort would last long at all. Sooner or later, he’d hear those footsteps, the footsteps of his tormentors, and he would brace himself for what was to come.

For now, the room was silent, almost strangely so, and he had time to gather his thoughts. The first thing he noticed was that his hands were no longer bound tightly behind his back, and he raised them to his eyes to inspect them. He stared distractedly at them, turning them over and inspecting the damage to them. His fingernails were gone and his wrists were red and inflamed, the indentions of the rope harsh and visible. There were cuts on his palm and the back of his hand that he didn’t remember receiving, and they didn’t sting like the tips of his fingers did and still bled as if they had recently been inflicted.

Flynn looked around the room as if to try to find some explanation for the numb, bleeding cuts. The room was still empty and silent and gave no answers to his confusion. He frowned, lowering his hands, before a thought struck him and he put his hands to the floor and pushed. Pain spiked for a moment, but with the push he managed to shove himself to his feet. The world seemed to spin and blur around him and he stared at the shifting wall for a moment. His legs didn’t hurt... odd.

“What is going on?” he whispered to the silence, stepping towards the door. A thought struck him; what if it was unlocked? He could escape. He could finally get out of here! His lips pulled back into a rare smile and Flynn made his way towards the door. As he stumbled closer, though, the door fell open as if it were willed by the intensity of Flynn’s thoughts alone. There was no one behind it, and the hallway that it led to appeared as dim as the room Flynn was already in. He couldn’t see very far in at all.

Escape. _Finally_ , escape was within his grasp. He was feeling great and he wasn’t about to stop now, and he thanked whatever higher being had given him such a stroke of luck.

He wasn’t very far from the door when he heard that dreaded sound: footsteps. His eyes widened and a primal terror flashed through his veins; footsteps were always bad. Footsteps meant they were coming, coming to hurt him even more. He was so close. He couldn’t let them get the better of him now, so he bolted into the dark hallway.

He couldn’t really see where he was going. There were no lights in the hall, and everything he could see in the dimness was out of focus and shifted slightly every time he looked at it. He staggered as he tripped over something, and then he felt hands seize his arms. Flynn was desperate, though. He shouted and kicked, fighting with strength that had been forgotten a long time ago. Freedom had been dangled so close to him, tantalizing and moving ever out of his reach, but he could not let it go this time. So he fought, but it was in vain. The hands that gripped his arms dragged him, kicking and screaming, back to the damned room.

His screams broke into a sob as the door closed with a loud slam, and that freedom that had been offered was snatched away. Of course he couldn’t get away. Why would he _ever_ be able to get away from this hell?

“Look at him. Pathetic,” one of the men who had dragged him back said. Flynn didn’t look up; he recognized the voice, but there was no name to be put to it. It was one of his most frequent tormentors. “What’re you crying for, _commandant_? Did you want out?” His voice took on a mocking tone and he laughed. Flynn heard footsteps—horrible, terrifying footsteps—as the man drew closer to him.

“You know you’re not supposed to run.” The second voice that spoke was blunt, and it didn’t hold the same taunting quality that the first’s had. It didn’t make him feel any better, though. “Running isn’t going to get you anywhere. You’re not getting out of here, Scifo.” There was a pause, and then the man said, “Catch.”

Flynn heard a wooden _thump_ near him, where the first knight was standing, and flinched. He still had not looked up and he did not plan to. He only braced himself, waiting for the pain that he knew was to come.

It came. Something slammed into the back of his head and caused him to pitch forwards, and he caught himself on the floor. He was lucky his other injuries didn’t hurt as much. It would have been unbearable if they did. Flynn coughed, but he didn’t respond otherwise. He’d given up on trying to talk back to them a long time ago; it had always only made him hurt that much worse.

“Oh, I know what he’s been doing here,” the first tormentor smugly said. “He’s been dreaming again. Dreaming of _freedom_ , aren’t you?” He laughed and Flynn felt another dizzying pain as something slammed into his side. “It’s too bad you’re stuck here. You might as well stop dreaming about it ’cause you’ll keep crying over it every time you do. Actually, you know what? Keep dreaming. You look so _stupid_ when you’re crying.”

“Shut up,” Flynn mumbled. Both of the men stopped and Flynn wondered to himself why he had spoken up. The smug one walked over, knelt down, and then fingers knotted themselves tightly into his hair. He winced and said nothing, focusing his eyes elsewhere, but he could see the smirking face in his peripherals. Flynn heard a rattle as the wooden beam was thrown aside.

“Well, aren’t you feeling feisty today?” he laughed, before he _slammed_ Flynn’s head into the floor so hard that Flynn’s vision went dark. It didn’t come back and Flynn was fairly certain it was because his eyes were tightly closed, but he couldn’t be sure. “Guess we’ll have to remedy that.”

“N-no... don’t...."

He felt himself being pulled up by the hair once again, and this time, he wasn’t slammed into the floor again. He was dragged to his feet, and was pulled out of the room. When he wearily opened his eyes, too exhausted to put up a fight or even try to walk himself, the hallway was lit again, but it held the same unfocused quality that the room did. He watched almost distractedly as the man marched him to their destination.

He didn’t recognize where they were going at first, not until the man opened the heavy wooden door and pushed it open. This room was lit, as well, and Flynn dug his feet into the metal flooring. The pain skyrocketed but he didn’t care; he _did_ recognize this room.

The room was small, and in the middle was a chair with leather straps on the armrests and legs. Cabinets lined the walls and a table sat near the chair.  The table didn’t hold much, just a lantern shedding light to the room, and a glass jar filled with a clear liquid. The cabinets were closed, and their contents sealed with a padlock. The appearance of the room, however, did not really matter to him.

He’d been there, once before; in fact, that room was the last thing he remembered from this wretched place. He’d gone through this before and they were going to do it to him _again_. Flynn’s struggles were useless, though, and he was dragged to the chair and shoved into it. His torturer deftly strapped his wrists and ankles, and then wound another strap around his chest. He was immobilized, but this didn’t stop him from frantically jerking on the bindings. He was desperate and terrified, and this gave him strength, but not enough.

The torturer grabbed the jar from the table and the contents swished with the force of being jerked up so quickly. He twisted the top off and a strong smell hit him, the first that he’d really noticed since waking up here. It was sharp and it almost hurt, and he flinched when fingers again knotted in his unkempt hair. His head was jerked backwards at an angle and he pulled harder at his restraints, frantic to get away. He remembered this. Fuck, fuck, _he remembered this_ . He had to get _out_.

“I bet I can get you to stop crying, _commandant_ ,” the smug man said, and Flynn watched as he raised the jar. “Who can cry when they don’t have eyes to do it with?” With that, he tilted the glass.

The liquid poured into his right eye and it felt like liquid _fire_ was being spilled onto his eye, and _fuck it hurt_ . He cried out—( _not this_ again _!_ )—and tried to twist his head to the side, but the torturer held it in place, and distantly he heard the man laughing. The pain in his other injuries was wholly forgotten, since they needed to step away to give this new agony the spotlight. A moment later, the agony doubled as the sharp-smelling liquid was poured into his left eye. A scream of renewed strength was torn from his throat; he couldn’t take this. It hurt, it _hurt_ , and it was so much— _too much_ —

* * *

He jolted awake, sadistic laughs and tortured screams echoing in his head.

“Flynn? Flynn, wake up!”

He couldn’t see Estelle, but he could hear her voice. It was a bit panicked, and laced with concern, but he didn’t respond for a moment. He was still half-asleep and horribly confused from his dream—( _was it really a dream? He didn’t know_ )—and he honestly didn’t know _what_ to think.

“Flynn, are you awake? You were having a nightmare.”

“Awake,” he muttered wearily, relaxing his tensed muscles. His mind was clearer than it had been the previous time, but that was a trade off, because now the pain hurt even worse. It was manageable and far less than he’d experienced before, but it still hurt and was awfully distracting. Concentrating on the pain made it spike, so he tried to instead contemplate his situation.

He didn’t know which reality he preferred more. On one hand, if that had been a dream, it meant that he was safe and sound here at the castle. He didn’t have to worry about his captors—( _unless they came and stole him away again, a thought that alighted a new fear in his chest_ )—and he didn’t have to worry about what was going to happen to him in the next hour. He no longer had to listen to those taunting voices and feel that excruciating pain.

On the other, however, he still couldn’t see. If this was real, than what Estelle had told him the last time he was awake must be true: he was blind. The thought was nerve-wracking and induced a new sort of anxiety within him. If he wasn’t able to see at all, there were so many things that would be near impossible, if not impossible. He couldn’t read. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror and he couldn’t see where he was walking. He couldn’t recognize faces and if he couldn’t hear or feel someone, they were just as well not there. The thought of such an important sense being lost to him left him almost hoping that the dream (or whatever it had been) that he had awoken from was the actual reality. He could at least see in that one, even if the only thing he had been seeing were the walls of that room.

This all seemed real, though. Estelle’s voice was only fuzzy because of the fading effects of the painkillers, but he could smell and feel and taste all the same. His memories of the previous time he had been awake were not as faded as the nightmare already was, so maybe this _was_ the real thing. He’d went on a mantra of how it was too good to be true earlier, but was it sincerely _too_ good? He was blind. He couldn’t walk, he was sick, and he felt like absolute shit. If he was dreaming, surely his addled mind would have _fixed_ some, if not all, of these ailments. If this were a dream, why would he feel the pain so sharply or be able to move so little?

“Are you still awake?”

Estelle’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. Her voice was soft, nigh more than a whisper; she likely feared any louder would wake him if he were truly asleep. She was so considerate.

“Yes,” Flynn said, shifting and slowly shaking his head. “Sorry... distracted.”

“It’s ok. Are you feeling any better?”

What a question. No, he didn’t feel any better at all, but he didn’t want to answer her like that. He felt like ass, but it was better than he’d been feeling the past month so that was something, at least. He might as well be somewhat optimistic about the situation, even if the entirety of his mind screamed of all the problems that were arising. “Fine,” he said simply. Estelle was quiet again for a long stretch.

“You were mumbling in your sleep. You... actually started to scream there for a few seconds, before you woke up.”

He didn’t doubt it. He had talked in his sleep (what little of it he got) back at Ghasfarost. The knights had taunted him about that, too, however minor it was. He sighed, but didn’t say anything. What was there for him to say?

“Flynn, do you want to talk about it any?”

Did he want to talk about it? _No_ , he didn’t want to talk about it! Even _thinking_ about what happened to him in that room brought up vivid memories and flashbacks. Talking about it would be so, so much _worse_ , wouldn’t it? Even to Estelle, who had so far been so kind to him, he did not want to talk about this. Perhaps she deserved to know something, but at the moment Flynn wasn’t keen on revealing exactly what happened to him. He was silent for awhile, and Estelle spoke up again. Her voice was gentle and comforting as if saying the wrong combination of words could set him off, which wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Maybe... you remember the names of some of them,” she prompted. “If you do, maybe we could try and catch some of them..."

She was trying to help, but Flynn was having none of it. “Estellise—”

“Please call me Estelle, Flynn.”

He sighed again, but complied. He was too tired to protest and it was easier to say anyway. “Estelle, then. I... would really prefer not to talk about this right now. I remember them... I just... don’t want to talk about it right now. I don’t know that many, anyways.”

Estelle made a soft noise and he was sure if it was one out of pity or disappointment. “If you’re sure..." She was obviously concerned, but this didn’t make him any more apt to talk about it. It wasn’t Estelle that was the problem, because he had somewhat of a hold on his mind at the moment and talking about his experience could make him lose that grip. He didn’t need to remember all of that.

There was silence between them. Flynn didn’t know what to say and he didn’t really want to talk, anyway. Estelle’s presence was appreciated, though. She was... warm, in a way, and just her _being_ there made him feel more at ease.

Flynn wondered what she was doing. It was so _infuriating_ to not be able to see, especially when he really thought about it. He couldn’t see the expression on her face, what she was doing, even what position she was sitting in (if she was even sitting down at all). He had no awareness of his surroundings beyond the occasional sounds of nurses and footsteps on linoleum, and he couldn’t recognize who was around him until they spoke up. He couldn’t even see what _he_ looked like; he could only feel the condition that his body was in. Flynn’s teeth grit in frustration, and his fingers would have curled into fists if he didn’t know that would make them hurt even worse.

It had been only a few minutes, but Estelle was the one to break the silence again. “I know you said you feel fine, but... um, the nurses said they wanted to lower the dosage of painkillers you got for a bit just to see how you do, and I... you still look like you’re hurting a lot. Do you want me to ask them to give you more?”

Flynn was, at first, silent. He mulled over what his response to this question would be. The painkillers made him a little fuzzy-headed, but at the same time, he was in a lot of pain and the pain was distracting him from his thoughts anyway. He shrugged with his left shoulder, which still hurt. “I... suppose.”

“Oh, ok!” Her voice was a little more cheerful; clearly, she had been expecting him to deny the help by denying the painkillers. “I’ll tell them when visiting hours are over. I’ll make sure you get some. I’m sure you’re miserable..."

 _Miserable,_ he thought idly. _That’s one word for it._

“And if you need anything else, just say something! Alright?”

“Mhmm,” Flynn mumbled back. He paused, and turned his head in Estelle’s direction. “You were... talking about my eyes, last time I was awake.”

A hesitation. “...Yes. What about them?”

Flynn inhaled deeply, bracing himself for the answer he knew was to come before he even answered the question. He exhaled, and then said quietly, “It’s permanent, isn’t it?” He recalled the terrible pain both from the dream only minutes ago and from his own memories. There was no way something like that _couldn’t_ be permanent, barring a very unlikely miracle.

He got no immediate reply. After a pause, he still got none. The silence only confirmed his suspicions, and he felt a weight on the side of the bed, indicating Estelle was leaning her weight against it. When she finally spoke up, her voice was low. “Oh, I’m sorry, Flynn,” she murmured, and the grief in her voice startled him. “Y-yes. Yes, it’s permanent. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he whispered, but there was no strength behind his words. He felt like some strand of hope that had weathered the storm had been snapped, his ideal future shattered. It was _permanent_ ; he would never see again. He could never _hope_ to see again, because it simply wouldn’t happen. He would never really _see_ Estelle, or Yuri, or Sodia, or _anyone else_ ever again. He would never be able to read (or write, he was sure) ever again.

A wave of pure helplessness crashed over him and Flynn almost felt like crying in a mixture of grief, frustration and fear. He was lost and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t be commandant, blind and half-mad. He couldn’t even be a _knight_ , led alone the head of the entire organization. But if he lost that, then what? Where did he have to go from there? The Knighthood was his life. He’d dedicated _everything_ to the organization. He’d given everything and now he was losing it all. His life was shattering into a thousand pieces, and all because of one _stupid_ inspection he’d meant to oversee at Heliord. It wasn’t even something that he’d _needed_ to go to—and fuck, he’d went, and look where that had put him. Three weeks in hell, and then into a life not worth living.

“I wish there was something I could do, Flynn, I- I tried. I tried, I’m so _sorry_ —” Estelle’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and he quietly interrupted her words.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeated, his voice rid of emotion because he feared if he showed any, the tidal wave of emotions he was trying to pin up would be freed. He had to think about something else before he burdened Estelle with this, too. “How... how is Yuri?”

Estelle seemed conflicted to change the subject, but answered his question after a beat anyway. “Yuri’s ok. He’s here in Zaphias, and has been since you got here, but... the doctors and nurses aren’t letting many people visit. I think I’m only getting in because I’m the princess, and I’ve been healing you as much as I can. I still have to leave a lot earlier than visitors usually do, though. He’s super antsy, though. He keeps asking about you.”

Flynn, on the other hand, was eager to change it. “I would like to see him, too,” he mumbled. “I’m sure with how restless Yuri is, the nurses are having a hard time keeping him from climbing in the windows.”

He heard a soft laugh from Estelle, which was a bit relaxing, even if there was still an obvious tenseness in his voice. “You’re right. He comes in every day he can manage and asks if he can see you yet. He’s made quite a habit out of it.”

Flynn nearly smiled at this; that sounded just like Yuri to do. He sighed, then, and turned his head to rest in back into the pillow. “Heh, I can imagine. Um... the next time you see him, tell him I really appreciate him... saving me.”

“I can do that,” Estelle said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “But I’m sure he already knows that.”

They didn’t talk much for the next few hours. Flynn slipped off to sleep once, but woke up before too long. His sleep was restless, and the sleep he got was riddled with nightmares of the past month and of the uncertain, terrifying future. They didn’t speak much after this, either, until it started getting late, at which point he heard the door open and a nurse’s voice spoke, startling Flynn at first.

“Ah, Princess Estellise, it’s about time for you to head out,” the nurse said mildly. “Visiting hours are over in just a few minutes.”

Flynn frowned deeper at this; every time he’d been awake so far, Estelle had been with him, and he wasn’t keen on her comforting presence to be lost so quickly. He protested before Estelle was even able to say anything at all. “She can’t stay? Why not?”

“I’m sorry, Commandant,” she apologized. “You need to get as much rest as you can manage, without distraction. If everything goes well, she can stay later soon.”

“I... don’t see what’s wrong with her staying here... Besides, maybe she wants to stay...." His protest was quieter, but he didn’t want Estelle to go, even though he wouldn’t say that outright.

Estelle had been quiet for now. “Will you be ok alone, Flynn?”

She seemed to understand, at least, some of his plight. The question, however, was heavy and he wasn’t exactly sure how he wanted to answer that. Of course he didn’t want to be alone... but what if she didn’t want to be with him? That had never occurred to him. Maybe she _didn’t_ want to deal with him, especially late into the night. She was probably bored and frustrated with staying here.

He nodded slowly. “Ah... yes, I’ll be fine. Sorry.” He did his best to smile at her, but it was weak. “I’ll... see you tomorrow?”

“Mhm! I’ll be here as early as I can tomorrow, ok?”

“Ok.”

He expected her to leave then, but instead of leaving immediately after, he felt her weight press down into the bed again, before her lips touched his forehead in a gentle, comforting kiss. He didn’t flinch, but he inhaled sharply, startled and shocked all at once.

“Good night, Flynn,” she said softly. His fingers twitched as she pulled away, longing for her proximity again already, and he replied in just as soft a voice.

“Good night, Estelle.”

* * *

 

Estelle had spoken briefly to the nurse about giving Flynn more painkillers before she left the hospital. She didn’t talk to the doctors or nurses much, beyond what they deemed necessary for her to hear about, which mostly just consisted of Flynn’s most pressing current health concerns and if they made any changes to his medicine. Beyond that, nothing much.

It was still evening, albeit late, when she left the hospital and walked down the familiar road to the Lower Quarter. She new her destination well; she was heading towards Yuri’s room at the Comet, a place she had visited rather frequently in the past few days. She passed by familiar faces without a second glance, and made her way quickly up the stairs.

She didn’t even have to go into Yuri’s room to see him. He was leaning against the railing and turned his head to look at her when he heard the footsteps coming up the stairs. He knew that this was the time Estelle usually came to visit him, and Estelle knew he was eager to see her. Rather, to hear from her.

“Yuri!” Estelle called, and greeted him with a hug, one that was only slightly returned; Yuri was used to her tight hugs.

“Hey, Estelle. How is he?” Yuri was always quick to the point and she didn’t really mind, but she had news with him to share.

“He was awake a lot today, and he wasn’t as... off as he was last time,” Estelle began. “He woke up around ten because of a nightmare. He wouldn’t tell me what it was about, though, but...." She slowed down and frowned, looking to her feet. “He started screaming and begging and... I didn’t really know what to do. I’ve never seen him that _bad_.”

Yuri frowned, watching as she spoke and raising a hand, setting it on her shoulder as an attempt to comfort her while she continued. She knew Yuri wasn’t necessarily great at these situations and said nothing about it.

“He... asked about his eyes, too. He asked if they were permanent and... when I told him, he got super quiet and... after I apologized he changed the subject. He wanted to, um, tell you that he appreciates what he did. And... he wants to see you too. He didn’t say a lot other than that, though. He’s... still doing pretty bad.”

Yuri mulled over this for a few moments, his eyes pulling from Estelle to the direction of the hospital. Estelle knew he was antsy, but there wasn’t a lot she could do about it beyond brute-forcing with her position. This was something, however, that she would prefer not to do. Besides, the nurse had said it wouldn’t be long before others got to visit, too, and for longer.

Before Yuri could say anything, Estelle closed her eyes and leaned against him, speaking once more. Her voice was strained. “He’s doing better, but... he’s not ok.”

“Are you alright?”

Yuri’s sudden question startled her and she looked up, staring at him for a few seconds. Was _she_ alright? What did it matter if _she_ was alright? “I... I’m fine.”

He frowned and looked away, shrugging slightly. “I know you’re worried, but... don’t stress yourself too much, ok? You can’t help Flynn if you’re too stressed out to care about yourself, and besides... he’ll pull out of this, I know it.”

He was turned away somewhat, but Estelle could see he was concerned, too. She didn’t mention it; Yuri was closed off already, and mentioning how distressed he was would only make him shut up worse. “I... I guess you’re right. He’s just so... _different_ now,” she said. “Um... about you visiting, though, the nurse said he would be ok for visitors soon. He just needs to get a lot of rest right now.”

Yuri nodded, saying nothing, but Estelle noticed the way he seemed to relax a bit. Yuri was so odd.

“There’s, um, one other thing that I’ve been worried about,” Estelle confessed after a long length of silence. “I talked to Sodia this morning.”

“Yeah?”

Estelle shifted her weight. “I mean... it’s not surprising, given his condition, but the Council  is pretty adamant that Flynn step down. I think Flynn knows he’s not going to be able to keep his job, but... he’s going to be so hurt when they tell him for real.”

Yuri looked over and sighed heavily. “I can imagine. Hell... that’s all he’s ever _done_.”

“And Ioder said that he was probably going to promote Sodia to commandant, since she’s been working as the acting commandant for a while. At least that’s... something, but...."

Yuri smirked wryly. “Oh, good. I’m sure we’ll get along even better with her as the commandant,” he joked, but his voice was mostly dry of humor. He was finding it harder than usual to joke about, especially with such matters. “But, maybe you should let Sodia handle that. She might know more about..." Yuri thought for a moment before he waved his hand dismissively and leaned back against the railing. “...how to break it to him, or something. I don’t know.”

Estelle stared at him as he looked out for a while before he noticed her staring. His gaze flickered to her and then back down at himself. “What?”

“Nothing,” Estelle lied. Yuri _was_ stressed. It wasn’t like him to be so humorless and so lost on his words. Yuri was confident, even moreso than Flynn sometimes, and he held himself up with a certain strength that Estelle had many times been in awe of. That strength was peeled away from the stress of recent events, and it showed. Yuri was worried about Flynn, and it reminded her of the time this situation had been reversed, after Yuri’s fall from Zaude. Flynn had been so stressed out and so unlike himself, but when Yuri had finally turned out to be ok, he was ecstatic.

Estelle hoped this situation would be the same.

“Do you want to go out for dinner?”

Yuri opened his eyes. “Dinner? Ah... sorry, but nah. I don’t have much of an appetite right now. Maybe tomorrow or something.” He made an attempt at his signature half-smile before pushing himself up to stand straight again. “Actually, I’ll probably be going to bed soon.” He let out a put-upon yawn, turning. “Long day, you know? You should probably head back to the castle, Estelle. I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”

Estelle tilted her head with a frown, watching him. “Yes, of course,” she said slowly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, Yuri stepped into his room and quietly closed the door behind him.

* * *

 

Flynn had been trying to go to sleep ever since Estelle left, but every time he finally started to slip off he was either woken by a spike in the pain or the sound of clacking footsteps going around the room or in the hallway. It was difficult to relax without a comforting presence and he found himself jumping at every little noise. Every time a nurse came in to take his temperature or redo his bandages (which hurt and was very annoying), his heart rate skyrocketed until he realized it was just a nurse. Every time he heard footsteps, his mind conjured a terrifying image of one of his tormentors, slipping in under the guise of knights, bodyguards even, and stealing him away to Ghasfarost once again.

One of his nurses—who had introduced herself as Jasmine, and insisted he call her that—had recognized this and had started to announce her presence every time she entered the room to help him with something, which was rather often. She was the nicest one that Flynn ever interacted with (though, to be fair, he hadn’t interacted with _that_ many of the nurses) by far. She had also come that night to bring him dinner, which wasn’t much more than water and broth, and Flynn was fairly ravenous so this made him appreciate her even more.

It frustrated him to be barely able to eat on his own, but he managed it, mostly, delicately using his left hand. She stayed to supervise him, and she tried to keep it from being awkward by initiating one of her one-sided conversations.

“You know,” she said while he was in the middle of eating, “you shouldn’t worry so much, commandant.”

Flynn didn’t respond, concentrating on putting the spoon up to his mouth. He was almost finished with this soup and he didn’t feel like talking about his problems when he was enjoying his first meal of warm food in a month. He had plenty of reasons to worry a lot, thank you very much. She took this lack of response as a cue to continue.

“You’ll be fine, I promise. You’re safe here and no one will be able to get you. After all, we do have really great security.”

Flynn wondered if Jasmine was a new nurse, what with the excited optimism she always spoke with, but he swallowed and still said nothing.

“We’ve got some of your very own knights guarding you, and I know you’ve trained them very well! You’ll be perfectly fine.”

This made him freeze, spoon midway to the bowl. His very own knights. That did not comfort him one bit. Did she not know that his torturers had _also_ been ‘his very own knights’? Paranoia suddenly gripped him again. His own knights had done this to him, and they could get in again. No one knew who they were.

He knew some of their names. He could have told Estelle their names! He could have told her, but he didn’t, and now those same men could act _again_ and try to hurt or kill him and _no one would know_ who they were!

Flynn dropped his spoon into the meager amount of soup left and he roughly offered the bowl in Jasmine’s general direction. “N-not hungry,” he muttered quickly.

“What? You need your strength to get better again, Commandant!”

“I’m _not hungry_!” he snapped, voice far more rough than he meant for it to be. There was silence and then he winced. “...I’m... I’m sorry, really. Please, just... take this and go.”

Jasmine was silent for a few moments, and when she spoke again she was quieter. “Right. I’ll... send someone in a bit, um, later, to check on you. You should try to get some rest,” she said. “Ah... good night, Commandant.”

Flynn said nothing, even as she waited for a response, and after a moment of waiting she simply turned and stepped away, the door to the room closing behind her.

As he thought of knights standing guard immediately outside of his door, anxiety gripped him tighter.

It would be a long time before he fell asleep tonight.


End file.
